


Million Dollar Man

by AccidentallyAnna



Series: The Squiffy Shenanigans of Eric and Gerald [5]
Category: An Inspector Calls - Priestley
Genre: 1910s, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Money, Running Away, Song Lyrics, Sugar Daddy, illegal relationship, lana del rey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentallyAnna/pseuds/AccidentallyAnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Eric meets Gerald Croft, one of the richest men in England, in a local bar his life is turned around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Million Dollar Man

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from listening to probably an unhealthy amount of Lana Del Rey so that explains the lyrics before each chapter. Btw I know the currency isn't dollars in England but it's kinda inspired by the song. This is the first Geric that I'm writing in chapters and at the moment I don't really know what direction I'm taking it in or how long it will be (that just depends on if people like it). I'll edit the tags as I go along because I'm not really sure about the plot yet although I'll probably keep it pretty PG as people from school (including a teacher) have links to my page so yeeeah.

_You got the world, but baby at what price?_

_Something so strange, hard to define._

 

I savoured the last glass of port I could afford, my mind not slipping into the hazy state that I craved when I drank. I had become accustomed to frequenting bars in the late hours of each night and doing so, had picked up quite a reputation.

The money I had was often stolen from my father's office; he was the owner of a successful company and if I was soon to inherit it, taking some of the money isn't really theft is it?

I think I underestimated the amount of alcohol I needed to get absolutely squiffy - I seem to need more every night and as I drained the last drop from my glass my eyes glided over to the people I was around. I don't usually look. I'm always preoccupied with what to drink next and how much. But now... There seemed to be nothing better to do.

It was a quiet night. There were the usual group of men at the bar shouting and arguing but the only other man in sight was sat on a table on the other side of the room.

I had hidden myself away in a corner, mostly to avoid the larger group of drunks, but the man had spotted me and seemed to refuse to look away.

He was studying me and every time I glanced up he would smirk to himself (or maybe to me) and continue to let my discomfort amuse him.

It was only when he crossed the room and sat down opposite me did I really get the chance to look at him properly.

His suit looked exceedingly expensive, especially for wearing to a sleazy place like this. Blond curls fell delightfully over a flawless face. His features were perfectly defined and his skin so unblemished that he could easily be mistaken for a painting.

"What are you doing in somewhere like this?" He asked me. His voice was steady  but deliberately lowered.

"I'm wondering the same about you. I wouldn't have thought this is really your scene, do you not think yourself more suited to a mansion?"

"I make my own scenes. They are only dependent on my act and the play that life performs for me."

"Do you not ever think to change your costume?"

The man smirked again and was silent for a few moments.

"Even if I change my character based on my surroundings... You must remember that it's still only a play. And I do have an element of reality left in me."

"The reality being you just like to visit places like these and flaunt your evident wealth?" I snapped.

"That isn't the only reason I came."

I didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. I waited for him to elaborate on exactly why he was talking to me and what it meant.

"What is your name?" He changed the subject, leaving me to follow him as he directed the conversation.

"Eric Birling. Who are you?"

"I'm Gerald Croft."

I was stunned into silence. This was the famous Gerald Croft. He was by far the richest man in the county, and one of the richest in England. It was said that after his parents had died he had inherited a fortune and he now lived by himself on the family estate with only servants for company.

"Don't look so shocked," he smiled.

I promptly closed my gaping mouth and blinked a few times, futilely trying not to appear like I was staring.

"Why are you even talking to me?" I looked down, as if I was not worthy of even his presence let alone the visual experience.

"You're interesting Eric Birling. And please look at me when I'm talking, you wouldn't want to appear impertinent."

I quickly snapped my face back up and forced myself to look into those piercing blue eyes.

"I'm not interesting."

"The matter of one's interestingness is for the subject's peers to judge."

"Would you care to subject me to your judgement?"

"You will receive no elaboration on my previous statement. I suspect in due time you can come to your own conclusions."

Gerald suddenly stood up, his chair falling to the ground behind him. If I were with any other man I would have been embarrassed but this was Gerald Croft. I was suddenly overwhelmed with pride that he had chosen me of all people to sit and talk with. But was he leaving so soon? Was there a reason to be proud if I had bored Gerald Croft? Offended him maybe?

He looked down on me and let me suffer the wait before he spoke.

"Are you getting up or staying here for the night, with no money?"

I stayed silent and didn't ask how he knew about the money issue.

"I would strongly advise you to come with me but as always, it's your decision."

He was inviting me to join him?

I stood up quickly but grabbed my chair before it fell and tucked it gently back under the table. When I looked back to Gerald he was smiling to himself; I didn't question it.

Gerald grabbed my arm and guided me towards the door. He pulled on a long coat and held mine for me as I quickly slipped my arms into the sleeves. Again, if it wasn't Gerald Croft I would have been embarrassed.

He pushed open the door and held it for me.

"After you, Eric Birling."

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue? Please leave a comment and kudos xx


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